| | Today was a “perfect memory weather” kind of day, something reminiscent of Southern California without all the bullshit.
I can’t seem to pick a song or stick to a memory. Instead I’m playing each one out, never finishing either, simply sampling what nostalgia has to offer and moving on. The front yard followed by the rooftop followed by the rock gardens and the meteors and the 405. Baited, I decide to write an old friend I knew in Burbank, wanted to know if he still remembered me. Turns out he does and I’m reminded of that house and that amazing bed and the time I almost ran over a three foot long Iguana.
I think about my first real memory and how it’s barely a second longer than thirty, and I wonder if all my memories are ever much longer than that and if I were feeling metaphorical, I’d probably say something about how this is like boiling milk when most of it evaporates because that’s what time does to you except this time you end up losing a gram of weed in the process because directions on the internet are so vague.
So much to think about.
I sit cross-legged on the couch, careful to avoid resting with the laptop in my lap because every time I do, I reminded of the person who once told me that doing that would ruin my uterus and while I’m not entirely sure if I want kids or not, I do know that I at least like to keep my options open.
Truth be told, for all my bitching and complaining, I’m reminded by weekends such as this one that I have a lot to be thankful for. And not in that cheesy, often overdone kind of way, but in the way that I can walk away from this and still smile about it.
I wonder what Paris will be like. |
| | Posted 8/6/2007 1:49 AM - 8 views - 1 comments
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